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“Stop fucking saying that!” I scream. “I know that!” Tears stream down my face freely now, but I’m too damned frustrated to care. Ever since I got sick, everyone—and I meaneveryone—has been telling me what I need to do.
You need this test, Ember.
You need this test instead, Ember.
Here, take this pill, Ember.
Time for hospice, Ember.
You’re going to marry me, Ember.
Over and over and over again, it’s been the same fucking story, and I am so… Damn… Tired. And now, that last forced choice is going to kill me faster than this disease. Unless, of course, I complete another blood exchange and have sex with a man I hate.
“Ember. You are not weak.”
“I know I’m not! Do you know what it was like? Growing up alone? Having to fend for myself? Then, when I got sick, having to find a way to pay all of my medical bills,alone?Slowly dying,alone? Not once did I complain, not once did I break down because what was the point? Sure, I had my pity parties, but who wouldn’t?”
“Ember!” he yells my name this time, his expression conflicted, as though he’s torn somewhere between pity and anger.
Pity I do not want. “No.” I turn away from him, emotions reeling, stomach burning, as I try like hell to ground myself in any sort of reasoning as to why this is happening.
And then—it hits me. I turn back to Rafferty. “You said you couldn’t kill me, fine, but you need to take me home.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I do that and you’ll die.”
“But so will Taranus. Don’t you see? This solves all of your problems.”
Rafferty’s upper lip raises in a snarl. “I will not sacrifice you. Not even for my world.”
“I’m dying, anyway, Rafferty. If anything, you doing that is a mercy. Please.” Tears stream down my cheeks. “Just take me home. I can die peacefully. Then you can take the kingdom. Maybe that’s what this ridiculous prophecy has always been about. Not about me making the king in the sense of being a mate but of clearing the path for you. My death can make you king.”
He shakes his head, backing away from me. “No.”
“You don’t get to choose for me, Rafferty. This is my life!” Tears burn my eyes. My throat is swollen with emotion even as I try to keep it together. I have to keep it together.
“More like your death!” he roars back.
I shake my head and rush toward him as desperation to have him see reason takes over. “Think about it, though. Doesn’t it make perfect sense? My death means the crown is there for you. By binding himself to me, Taranus sealed his own fate.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” he argues, shutting his eyes tightly and shaking his head.
“Yes, it does! Much more sense than me being some rumored queen.”
Eyes blazing, he glares down at me. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because your death willnevermake sense!”
His words stop me in my tracks. But it’s more than even that. The broken look on his face—the tortured expression—it tears me apart. It’s no longer pity I see reflected in his gaze but rather something far more emotional. “Rafferty—”
“You cannot even begin to imagine what I feel for you, Ember. It makes no sense at all, but is nothing like anything I’ve ever experienced.” He crosses the space toward me. “I have to keep you safe—protect you.”
“And you have. You kept Taranus from making me immortal, Rafferty.” I think of all the pain Taranus has caused and of how angry I felt getting my diagnosis. It always felt so pointless, me dying so young, but now it makes sense.
My life may not have changed the world.
But my death will.
